The entrance hatch at the front opened, revealing a stern-faced human man with dark hair pushed beneath a maroon peaked cap, which matched the leather jacket that he wore. Flanking him were a pair of no-neck goons that looked like their images belonged in Astrid’s Compendium of Knowledge, beside the entry for Leg-Breaker.

  With such a display, the rather sizable laser holstered to the lead man’s hip seemed like overkill, but it was the next thing to catch both mine and Xenon’s attention. To which, my Velox not-a-friend promptly responded to by grabbing his payment chit and shuffling right out the door without so much as another word to me. He didn’t even finish his last drink.

  The man silently stepped passed his entourage, paying me no mind. He strode through the bar, making an excruciatingly slow circuit of the room. The echo of his flight-deck boots through the empty space made my eye twitch.

  Clack. Click. Clack.

  Now, I’ve dealt with a fair number of unscrupulous and intimidating types in my life. Far more since getting mixed up with T’Lathll and his smuggling racket. Two varieties of ne’er-do-well typically rise to the top of the thug crowd. One type gets their way with explicit threats and bouts of explosive violence. The second relies more upon implied danger and coldly executed action. It’s the latter kind that makes me really twitchy.

  However, one thing that I’ve learned in those dealings that seems to remain constant: Don’t let on just how scared you might be.

  I moved my dish rag over the mahogany-stained wood of my bar-top, ostensibly cleaning it. A portion of the rag conveniently concealed the light tremor in my hand. “Captain Farrow, I presume?”

  As if he hadn’t heard me, Farrow continued to give my establishment an officer’s inspection for a few drawn out seconds before turning his steely gaze onto me. “Yes. And you must be T’Lathll’s little pet monkey bartender.”

  I’m not going to lie, that hurt.

  Fire roiled in my gut, incinerating the butterflies that had been there moments before. A part of me wondered whether I could take out his muscle with my laser pistol, before Farrow could gun me down. Since T’Lathll had gotten the drop on me, I’d begun storing it in a mount positioned beneath the bar, which was aimed at the door.

  Don’t be stupid, Evan.

  A sudden taste like freshly milled copper swirled around my mouth as I bit down on my tongue hard enough to make my eyes water.

  I cleared my throat and blotted my eyes with my dishrag. “Hrmph—ah, yeah. I guess that’s me.”

  “The assessors ought to conclude their inspection of the cargo any moment,” he said with a glance at a chronometer on his wrist. “I would very much like to see my goods. We have a tight schedule to keep.” His other hand remained far too close to his holstered weapon for my liking.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  I stooped behind the counter and hoisted the container that resembled a large keg up onto the counter. On a small keypad beside the coupler, I entered the five-digit code that T’Lathll’s couriers had given me. A pressurized hiss escaped the apparent keg, as a vertical seam along the container revealed itself, splitting it down the middle. Pulling the two halves apart, the eerie black box was on full display. An awed smile oozed across Farrow’s face, and I wasn’t sure whether I was that or the device creeped me out more.

  “It’s a thing of beauty,” he said, the flickering orange lights shining into his dark eyes.

  “What is it,” I asked, a pang of curiosity getting the best of me.

  His brow arched, as Farrow’s full attention turned on me. “You don’t know?”

  I shrugged, “Some salvage job from the corners of the Sector that the Thrynn nicked off a ship that plopped out of a Flux. Caused their shields to go tits-up or something.”

  “It’s a Shield Nullifier.”

  “Hah! We serve a drink by that name here at the Black Box!” The drink is positively pant-dropping in its potency and not recommended for any but those with the hardiest of constitutions; thus the name. Farrow’s hard gaze told me he was not amused. “Uh, sounds ominous.”

  Farrow’s eyes fell back onto the device with the same kind of awe I’ve seen of the faces of new parents gazing on the newborn baby. “If rumors are to be believed, this device has the potential to cripple even the most battle-ready cruiser in the Sector. It can disable the shields of any vessel struck by its blast. With it, we will become so formidable, not even Interstel’s new class of starships will be able to prevent us from cutting out a swath of the Sector for our own.”

  That nervous twitch I’d felt earlier ramped up, and my stomach threatened to mutiny on me. I already knew Farrow was a pirate and that he only steered clear of Interstel craft so that he could still do business with them. But if he and his crew had cause to no longer feel threatened by Interstel’s ability to check his ambitions, who could be sure how long that would remain the case.

  I’ve never wished more for something to be a Thrynn con-job before in my life.

  The purple notification light of the comms disc on the bar flashed, and I answered the incoming call. A miniature hologram image of M-09 came to life over the disc. Just seeing the animated image of my partner made some of my tension ease a little.

  “Talk to me, Buckethead. What’s the verdict?”

  M-09’s holographic head swiveled slightly left and then right, before tilting slightly askew as it stared at me with his emotionless red eyes. “They completed the appraisal. The assessed value is higher than I believe even T’Lathll was expecting.”

  “I’m not in the business of presuming to know Nyll T’Lathll’s desires, and neither should you. Good to hear, though. Have them pack it all up and get it secured for our patron. Then get back over here. Copy?”

  “Affirmative,” the holographic Android said, nodding. Then the light on the comms disc turned off.

  Closing the faux-keg container, I returned my attention to Farrow. Like it or not, I had a job to finish here. “Well Captain, if you’re satisfied with the product, how about we wrap up our business today?”

  He checked his chronometer again. “Yes, let’s do. I have a schedule to keep.”

  I briefed him over the case and all the ingenious features which were built into it, to convince anything other than a thorough inspector that it was just a simple keg; including a device that artificially mimicked the feeling of a liquid core moving within the keg. It even had a couple liters of ale enclosed within the unit. Finally, I showed him how to unlock the case and gave him the passcode.

  “I rarely enjoy doing business with agents of the Thrynn, Mister McConnell. But you’ve been most helpful.” He ran his hand slowly over the casing. “That said, I feel it I would be remiss if I did not make myself clear that, if you or your mechanical friend do something stupid, like double cross me or report this deal to Interstel, I will come back and take out my frustration on your corpses.”

  At that, he reached over and grabbed Xenon’s unfinished drink, throwing it back in one gulp. He slammed the glass back down with a wink and a full-belly laugh and then snatched the keg off the bar and went out the door. I could hear him and his men singing something off-key as they left to go back to the docking bay.

  I waited there at the bar until M-09 returned from the Trading Post. Telling him to close up shop, I went to my office in the back of the bar and collapsed on the lumpy brown sofa that I keep back there. I was out like a light before I knew it.

  Hours later, a klaxon alarm ripped me from my slumber. A strip of cove lighting, which ran throughout Starport Central, flared to life with an ominous strobing red color. The alarm stopped, and a computerized voice broke through on the intercoms.

  “Red Alert! Red Alert! Unauthorized persons have beamed onto the Starport. Please take shelter within your quarters while Security sees to this matter. We have temporarily disabled all teleporters within Habitat Sectors Four through Twelve until the perpetrators have been apprehended. We apologize for any inconvenience. Thank you and may the Rock of Truth shine upon you!”

  I glanced up at the Station Map that was hanging on the wall. The ‘You Are Here’ indicator on it clearly showed us as being within Habitat Sector Nine.

  Well, ain’t that just great.

  My head was pounding, but I’d used the last pump of my pain-relieving spray after a bar brawl broke out last week over some Space Jockey eating the last of his crew’s communal basket of cheese fries. I’d caught a stool to the head, while trying to break it up.

  I pushed myself off of the couch and fumbled back into the bar. We’d closed even before the lockdown. The bar was only dimly lit by the combination of the pulsing red alarm along the ceiling and the shifting colors in the faceplate of the retro jukebox.

  Oh well, if I had to hunker down until this was over, I was damn sure going to need a drink.

  Two fingers of whisky later, I saw something move to my right, out of the corner of my eye. I ripped the laser pistol out from under the bar. Spinning on my heel, I took aim to blast—before powering it down again as I made out the silhouette of M-09.

  “You worthless bucket of bolts! I could have blown your processors clean out of your head!”

  “Apologies, Evan. I did not mean to frighten you. I am monitoring the radio communications from the Security Teams in this Sector and have downloaded their data report that led to this incident.”

  “Wait—you can do that?”

  M-09’s unblinking red eyes regarded me for a moment. “Of course. It is a simple matter.”

  “So, what kind of idiot teleports onto Starport Central without authorization,” I said as I poured myself another bit of whisky.

  “Pirates,” he answered flatly.

  And I dropped my glass.

  “What?”

  “It would seem that a starship carrying a sizable haul of Endurium was scheduled to make a delivery to the Trading Post today. Shortly before it entered Arth’s orbit, a previously undetected Corvette swooped in upon the Trader and hailed it.”

  A sick feeling in my gut started forming, threatening to bring my whisky back the wrong way.

  “The captain of the Corvette demanded the Trader turn over its cargo, or it would attack it.”

  “So close to Starport? That’s insane.”

  M-09 nodded. “It would seem that the captain of the Trader concurred with your assessment. They refused. The Corvette then engaged some unknown manner of energy weapon, but it malfunctioned and crippled their own vessel instead. Starport engaged a tractor-beam to tow the Corvette into custody, but the crew of the pirate vessel managed to teleport themselves aboard instead. They have already killed two Security personnel and wounded three others.”

  I tried to swallow the acid crawling up my throat. “Has Security identified anyone in this group of pirates?”

  Please don’t be them. Please don’t be them.

  “Affirmative. They have positively identified one of the raiding pirates as Captain Farrow.”

  “Oh, come on! We’ve got to get out of here. Now!”

  I frantically closed the cap on the bottle of whiskey, almost putting it back on the shelf, but then I shoved it under my arm instead. M-09 watched as I raided the bar for supplies.

  “They instructed us to remain here. Why do we need to leave?”

  “Because that lunatic knows exactly where to find us here,” I growled, tossing anything that looked useful in a sack. “And I’ll be damned if I’m going to make it easy for him to kill me.”

  We made it as far as the lifts before the shooting started.

  The first shot whizzed past my head, striking the wall beside me. M-09 shoved me to the ground behind an access panel. The next three blasts hit him in shoulder servos in rapid succession. His left arm all but fell off as he collapsed to his knees beside me.

  “Bastards!”

  I popped out from around M-09 and returned fire. Three shadowy figures at the end of the corridor scattered immediately, but a pained groan told me I’d hit something.

  M-09 pulled me back behind cover with his remaining arm. “Evan, you cannot stay here. We are outnumbered, and without sustainable cover. Statistical analysis of our situation reflects odds that—”

  “Don’t tell me the odds, Buckethead,” I said, popping two more shots down the corridor.

  “Get in the lift. Find Constable Ndango or her Security team. The last comms check-in placed her one Habitat Sector above us, near the Solarium Gardens. Go now,” he said with a forceful shove. “I will provide you with time.”

  His last words hit me. “M093332, you work for me. Don’t you dare try to give me orders,” I said, my voice cracking with emotion. “Now get up!”

  Another round of blaster fire erupted from down the corridor, forcing us to hug the wall again. The heat coming off of the scorched metal paneling overhead sent pools of sweat down my back. M-09 tore the remnant of his left arm free of his body and flung it down the hall. It smashed into an advancing attacker, sending him crashing limply into a wall. From this distance, I recognized him as one of Farrow’s No-Neck thugs from earlier.

  Hoping to slow their advance, I sent more blasts back down the hall. The battery indicator along the barrel of my weapon told me I couldn’t keep this up, however, even if I could slow their progress. It’s not like I’d needed to use my pistol for anything but show since I’d come to Starport.

  “I apologize for my insubordination, Evan McConnell,” M-09 said, as he wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me up against his chest.

  “Uh, what the—” I wheezed, as it forced the breath out of me.

  M-09 whirled us over to the lift tube. His back absorbed the shower of blaster fire, but he wouldn’t be able to withstand much more. He called up the lift, shoving me inside.

  “Goodbye Evan,” he said as the opaque glass doors closed behind me.

  With the tube rocketing me toward the next level, I could see the android spin about and charge into the group of pirates. A flood of red light tore into his body. Even his armored casing couldn’t hold up against that amount of damage.

  Thudding my head against the tube, I whispered, “Goodbye, my friend.”

  I was still wallowing in my grief when the lift doors opened again, and a blaster greeted me in my face.

  Ah, crap.

  “Don’t move,” demanded a familiar woman’s voice.

  “Ndango, is that you?”

  “McConnell?” She lowered her blaster, slightly. “What the stars are you doing out of your chambers? Didn’t you hear the alert from Operations? I seriously don’t have time for your crap tonight. A bunch of crazy jackholes kicked off an invasion of the station, for Rock knows why.”

  “They’re pirates, and I think I know why.” I said, shooting a quick glance to the lifts behind me. “I don’t have time—”

  When I’d turned back to face her, Ndango’s blaster was in my face again. “What kind of Spemin-brained stupidity have you brought to my station, McConnell?”

  It wasn’t until I raised my hands into the air that I realized I was still holding my nearly spent laser pistol. Something that Ndango appeared to note for the first time, too.

  “Move a muscle, and I will drop you like drone slag! Why do you have that weapon?”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to say. These guys are here to kill me.” My focus broke long enough from the barrel of her weapon to see around her head. “Hey, where the heck is your team?”

  “There’s a quarter of a million people on this station, and I only have a team of one hundred and fifty onboard. We’re spread a little thin, dammit. No one has ever been stupid enough to try to take on a station that can disable a small fleet from orbit.” She reached over and took my blaster from me. “Now start talking, McConnell.”

  “We don’t have time! They’re just a level below us, and they’ve already destroyed M-09!”

  She lowered her weapon again. “What kind of numbers are we talking about?”

  “I only saw three before, but I think there’s probably a few more. M-09 dropped at least one.”

  She stood there for a moment, thinking. “There’s not enough time to get a team up here to us. And if we turn the teleporters back online, who knows where they could get to. It’s not ideal, but come with me.”

  She led me down the corridor to a large portal doorway.

  “Ditch your jacket out here. If they’re after you, better to pull them this way than to risk them running loose in Starport.” She pushed a panel button. “You won’t want to wear it in there, anyway.”

  The hefty doors slid open, and a wave of humid air smacked me in the face. My hair felt heavier in seconds. Lush green plant-life of all kinds, mossy mounds, and blooming blossoms filled the space as far as the eye could see. It was like a small jungle aboard Starport Central. Overhead, a transparent outer hull allowed full exposure to the light of the sun to beam into the room.

  “What is this place?”, I asked, mouth agape.

  “This is the Solarium. A private arboretum on the station. It helps produce some of Starport’s oxygen and gives us a place to redirect some of the carbon dioxide levels. Now hurry, move this way.”

  She shoved me along, deeper into the massive space that must take up the bulk of this Section, and then pulled off the pathway that circuited the room. We took shelter along a patch of soft mossy soil, which was sheltered by several thick fronds of a tree.

  A few minutes later, I heard the portal doors open again. Rushed, low voices followed soon after, and the clumping of several boots moving through the chamber afterward.

  Farrow’s booming voice called out, “Come on out, McConnell! I know you’re in here! I told you that if you double-crossed me, I was gonna kill you. But did you listen? Hell no! So, let’s get this over with so I can go hunt down your no-good, lying snake of a boss next!”

  What was he going on about?

  I barked back at him, “I don’t know what you talking about! I didn’t double-cross you!”

  The trees did wonders to keep him from pegging where my voice had come from, but Farrow made a flanking gesture to the dozen or so other brutes with him. Ndango jabbed me painfully in my sides, none-the-less.